One act a phantom of succession: thus Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time ; But in the shadow will we work, and mould The woman to the fuller day.' She spake With kindled eyes: we rode a league beyond, And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came On flowery levels underneath the crag, Full of all beauty. "O how sweet' I said (For I was half-oblivious of my mask) To linger here with one that loved us.' 'Yea' She answer'd'or with fair philosophies That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields Are lovely, lovelier not the Elysian lawns, Where paced the Demigods of old, and saw Lay out the viands.' At the word, they raised With fair Corinna's triumph; here she stood, The woman-conqueror; woman-conquer'd there And all the men mourn'd at his side: but we With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I With mine affianced. Many a little hand Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, Many a light foot shone like a jewel set In the dark crag: and then we turn'd, we wound About the cliffs, the copses, out and in, Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names Of shale and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all The rosy heights came out above the lawns. The splendour falls on castle walls And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: O love, they die in yon rich sky, And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. IV. THERE sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, If that hypothesis of theirs be sound' Said Ida; let us down and rest' and we Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices, Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. But when we planted level feet, and dipt Beneath the satin dome and enter'd in, There leaning deep in broider'd down we sank Our elbows on a tripod in the midst A fragrant flame rose, and before us glow'd Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold. Then she 'Let some one sing to us: lightlier move The minutes fledged with music:' and a maid, Of those beside her, smote her harp, and sang. Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, "Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns |